


And so the truth comes out

by Sharraus



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Heresy, Set after the second game, all of this is without Emily´s knowledge, and have only the barest idea what happens, because I haven´t played it, he is just mentioned, non DOtO complaint, she wouldn´t approve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharraus/pseuds/Sharraus
Summary: Years after taking the Outsider´s mark, the Overseers have finally come for him. He supposed it was inevitable.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	And so the truth comes out

Corvo woke up to searing pain in his chest, dust in his eyes and lungs and a mind-wracking tune of the music box tearing at his ears. It took him a minute to recall where he was and how he’d got there. The throbbing on the back of his right hand, pain shooting the way up his arm, made it no easier.

“Lord Protector,” someone hissed, the vile voice a mockery of his title. The obnoxious music was cut short and he could feel the fog in his head clearing. He raised his head to stare at the Overseer’s mask above him. He recognized the man by his voice alone.

The cell around him was dingy. There was a fire burning in a pit near one wall, there were chains hanging from the walls and he spotted a heretic’s brand on the table beside him, along with several crude instruments and a bone charm. It wasn’t singing anymore, no more whale song teasing his ears with promises. All of it drained out by the music box. Or perhaps it only made him deaf, not the bone charm mute. He wondered how he go there.

Why he was there was painfully obvious. Someone found out about his little magic stunts and attributed them – correctly – to the Outsider. But who? There were too many people who would not hesitate to rid the world of him. That at least had stayed constant through the years, even if everything else had changed.

“Lord Protector bears the devil’s mark on his hand. Who would’ve thought?” the High Overseer sneered at him, attracting his attention again. If the Outsider was the devil, Corvo thinks humanity had won on that front. He was certain the Abbey didn’t agree.

“What possessed you to take such a wicked trade?” the man finally leaned away from him. It didn’t lessen the derision in his voice, however.

Corvo still couldn’t think straight, but it was all he could do to not spit at the man. He didn’t actually know what price there was for wearing the Outsider’s mark – aside of the one imposed by the Abbey – but he would pay it gladly after all the help he’d received from the elusive deity. Even if it was cryptic more often than not.

He could laugh at the irony. Years ago he’d been the best swordsman on the Isles, respected protector of the Empress and a thorn in the Abbey’s side because he’d oversleep their lectures and prayers five times a week. He had saved the Empire by dark magic. He was sure the Outsider laughed himself hoarse when he’d got the Royal Protector to take his mark.

“You’ve seen that witch, the ruin she’d brought on the Empire, smell the foul stench she’d left behind,” the High Overseer carried on in a condescending manner, blissfully unaware of the ironical laughter bubbling in Corvo’s chest. Foul stench indeed. How fitting it had been cleared by the very same black magic they were so heavily damning. He had taken the mark again, that time more for himself than for Emily or the Isles – he’d admit to such selfishness. He’d grown used to it; to the cool shudders creeping up his arm when he pulled himself through space or stopped time. It had only been gone for mere hours, but he had missed it like he’d have missed his hand. It hadn’t mattered he had not spoken to the Outsider for years by then.

But there he was, in a dark, wet cell under the Abbey Headquarters, imprisoned for an innocent little marking on his skin. Twice he’d saved the Empire with dark magic and he would – apparently – suffer for it.

“I’ll give you one chance, Corvo, for your relation to Lady Emily,” the High Overseer said, drawing Corvo’s eyes to him again. “One chance to redeem yourself.” There was a threat hidden behind those words, underlined by a different masked man picking up the heretic’s brand and stuffing it in the fire.

“Deny him,” the High Overseer whispered, his eyes gazing intently at Corvo as he leaned closer again. “Deny the Outsider.”

Corvo was swept by another urge to laugh and this time a painful chuckle did escape his throat. Deny. Speaking as if he worshipped the fickle deity. He was not a pious man. Still, he couldn’t help but remember all the times he’d been at his shrines. To collect runes, yes, but did he not always give a stray thought to the god? A brief thanks for the gifts and – during the crises – guidance. Did he not carve his mark into whale bones, creating runes? Did he not spend hours tinkering with bone charms? And when things were at their worst, did he not kneel by the altars, not knowing what to do or say, but hoping the sentiment would be enough? Was that worship? The Outsider hated worship as much as Corvo hated the idea of practising it, but in the eyes of Abbey, it certainly qualified.

“Deny him, Corvo, before it’s too late,” the High Overseer coaxed him. What was he trying to achieve anyway? Corvo didn’t linger on the thought, not truly interested in the motivation of the man. Instead, he focused his attention on the more pressing question. What would happen if he did deny the Outsider? He’d lose his mark, probably. His magic. It was hard to tell if the god himself would be offended, but Corvo was inclined to believe he wouldn’t.

“Deny him!” It was unmistakably an order. The heretic’s brand neared Corvo’s face dangerously. He looked up, mind still hazy, and pierced the High Overseer with his gaze.

“No.” The word came out raspy and barely above a whisper. It was enough, however. The High Overseer pulled away in disgust and the brand was pressed onto Corvo’s face without a second thought. A burning pain shot through his skull as the metal marred his cheek and eye as he’d once done to Campbell.

He couldn’t keep himself from crying out in pain, his screams echoing around the cell and down the corridor. The tune of the music box started again, piercing his mind with unbearable pain. His mark swelled up, almost popping out of his skin as it send pure agony shooting up his arm straight into his heart. It didn’t take long for him to pass out.

When he woke up again he was sore, tired and couldn’t feel half of his body. He was sitting on the ground, sharp rocks digging into his back. His hands were chained up above him and something dripped down his left one. He was willing to bet it was blood leaking from his mark.

He took a deep breath and looked around, only to realize his right eye was like glued shut. Something was streaming down from it. He hoped tears, but feared the worst. He remembered the brand he now wore on his face and couldn’t help the sting of shame before it was consumed by fury.

He flexed his left hand, attempting to feel around for Void, but it sent searing pain down his arm. He winced, an involuntary moan escaping him. He coughed dryly, surprised to discover it hurt. Quick glance down showed him it was naked and bruised with burn marks all over. He let his head fall against the wall and sighed. That was the stupidest no of his life. He would not take it back.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sorry


End file.
